


Naughty Neighbor

by SomewhereApart



Series: Breaking In [8]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: But yknow quite delayed, F/M, OQ Prompt Party 2020 (Once Upon a Time), breaking in - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:53:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26062207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhereApart/pseuds/SomewhereApart
Summary: Regina stops by the Rabbit Hole after a bad day at work. Inspired by the prompt "Robin using the beer Naughty Neighbour to flirt with Regina".
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Robin Hood
Series: Breaking In [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/920265
Comments: 11
Kudos: 56





	Naughty Neighbor

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the Prompt Party prompt: Breaking In - Robin using the beer Naughty Neighbour to flirt with Regina. Unbetaed--just trying to get some writing mojo back.

It’s been one of those days. 

Work had been… trying. She’d spilled coffee on her cream-colored blouse approximately fifteen minutes after walking in the door, Mallory had been in a mood (and Regina understands, she _does_ , but if her only ally left in the office could stop running so hot and cold with her, it would certainly make this transition easier), and she’d been so deep in new account planning that she’d worked through lunch without realizing. It hadn’t been until the hollow grinding in her stomach became unbearable that she’d realized it was nearly 3:00 and she hadn’t eaten since this morning’s granola. The tiny voice in her head that whispered _At this point you may as well just wait until dinner_ had made her feel itchy and uneasy, so she’d taken twenty minutes to head down to Grumpy’s and indulge in a white chocolate raspberry scone and a flat white. 

It wasn’t a meal, but it certainly had enough calories for one, so she’d told herself it was sufficient to get her to dinner. At least the grinding had stopped.

Traffic had been hellish on the way home, a stop-and-go nightmare that had a throbbing pulse of pain and tension wrapping tighter and tighter around the base of her skull (the hunger had been back by then, something that likely had not helped with her headache). So when she’d walked in the door and Henry had immediately asked what was for dinner, she’d taken one deep breath to keep herself from snapping something about letting her get her goddamn shoes off before making demands of her, and announced they were going to the bar.

It was just easier.

And besides, Robin is bartending and she’d wanted nothing more than to drown in blue eyes and dimples for a little while. Henry may have no idea what’s going on between them, but they both do (finally, God, finally), and she’s inordinately soothed by his very presence, by the pitch of his accent, and the way he looks at her, and the way he dotes on Henry.

She wants comfort, and that man… he’s comfort food, for her. She’s still not entirely sure that’s healthy, but she’s not going to question it with that pulsing headache and her hollow belly and her hungry son. 

So she changes into jeans and a warm sweater (the weather has begun to turn, the evenings now brisk and chilly) and those Ugg boots she never, ever wears in public. And they walk. 

She isn’t planning on getting drunk, not with Henry there, but she isn’t planning on being a teetotaler either, so it’s better not to drive. 

The bar is blessedly slow tonight—enough that Robin looks up when the door opens and smiles when he sees them. Those dimples pop, those blue eyes go warm and pleased, and something in Regina’s middle unclenches.

He drops two menus in front of two open stools at the bar, and they climb into them without question, Regina stashing her purse on one of the hooks under the bar while Henry asks if he can pour his own Coke—then pauses and turns to ask Regina if he can _have_ a Coke. 

“You can have whatever you want, sweetheart,” she tells him, not in the mood to police anyone’s food choices tonight. 

She’s fairly certain it hadn’t come out as irritation (Henry seems entirely nonplussed), but she doesn’t miss the way Robin’s brows lift before he tells Henry to “come on round the back and pour.”

Henry scampers down toward the far end of the bar to do just that, and Robin drops his voice just a little, asking, “You alright, babe?”

Regina sighs heavily, and admits, “Bad day,” with a shake of her head. 

“Bad day or Bad Day?” he wonders; she doesn’t really want to think on the answer.

So she shrugs and says, “I worked through lunch; I’m hungry, I’m irritable, and I just… wanted to see you, I guess.”

The sympathetic frown he’d sunk into buoys up a bit at that, one hand sliding across the bar to find her fingers and squeeze. Henry is far enough away and distracted by the very important task of retrieving his own glass, and ice, and fiddling with the soda gun; Regina turns her hand in Robin’s so they’re palm to palm and squeezes back. 

“I must say, it’s awfully flattering that irritability makes you want to see me; that’s every man’s dream.”

He’s teasing, so she laughs; maybe that hadn’t come out right…

“I just meant—”

“I know,” he dismisses. “Just trying to get a smile out of you.”

“It worked,” she praises, although that smile is rapidly dimming, beaten back by the tension headache and the empty belly. “I need dinner and so does Henry, and I need some kind of alcohol.”

“You drive?”

“Nope.”

Robin nods, then bends to reach into one of the refrigerated cases and resurfaces with a tall can, the sound of the metal cracking open as he pulls the tab far more satisfying than it has any right to be. 

“Let’s start with beer—at least until you get some food in you,” he tells her as he empties it into a pint glass. “This one’s new and, quite frankly, meant for you.”

“Oh?” 

Between the two of them, he’s the beer drinker, although she’s been keeping it on hand for him since Henry’s lessons in the spring. Even so, she’s not sure that he really does know her beer tastes, so she’s curious right up until the moment he sets both glass and can on the bar, turning the can so she can see the front. There’s a roller derby girl with the name of the beer—Naughty Neighbor—emblazoned above it. 

Regina fights both an eye roll and a smirk, taunting lowly, “I’m pretty sure that’s _you_ , not me.”

Robin scoffs and tells her he has only two words for her: “Guest room.”

Regina feels a little rush of heat at the memory—office attire and whipped cream and incredibly good sex—but her only concession is reaching for the glass and taking a deep swig. It’s bright and refreshing, citrusy and light, but it hits her empty belly with a flush of warmth that has her grateful to hear Robin asking, “Salad or burger?”

Neither sound quite right, so she wrinkles her nose and counters, “Turkey burger?”

“Grilled chicken bacon burger with barbeque sauce and far too many veggies?” he suggests. “And a side of the new seasoned waffle fries that I will absolutely nick from your plate every time I walk by.”

“That good, huh?”

“I’ve already eaten my weight in them,” he tells her with an air of warning. “I’ll lose my figure; I hope you’ll still want to shag me senseless when I’m half waffle fry.”

Regina glances toward Henry, grateful to find him distracted by August several feet away, slurping on his already-half-empty Coke.

She still pitches her voice so low it’s almost inaudible as she flirts back, “As long as you keep doing that thing with your tongue.”

Robin’s brows bounce suggestively, his teeth digging into his bottom lip before he murmurs doubtfully, “And she says she's not the naughty one,” and then tells her, “Leave the light on; I’ll come by and do it tonight.”

Regina’s cheeks heat at the offer, her belly going even warmer. God, that’s exactly what she wants, but…

“I have a meeting tomorrow. I’m not sure it’s a good night for three am booty calls.”

“We’re dead tonight; I’ll get August to cut me early.”

Their hands are still joined, and his thumb has started to stroke slowly along the length of hers. It feels very… pointed. How he manages to make _hand-holding_ into something sexy is beyond her. 

“Text me when you get off; I’ll let you know if I’m still up.”

“You will be,” he tells her with a certainty borne of either his confidence in his ability to get cut before closing or his lack of confidence in her ability to resist the prospect of a thorough _midnight snack_. She’s not sure she wants to know which, to be honest.

To avoid asking, she urges him, “Put the food in; I’m starving.”

The grin he gives her in response makes her feel distinctly like she’s lost whatever battle of wills they were having, but she finds she doesn’t really mind tonight.

Their fingers untangle, and he turns to the register, hollering over to Henry and asking what he wants for dinner. Henry orders chicken fingers and fries, and Regina takes a moment to appreciate the shape of Robin’s shoulders, the way his back moves down into his hips, the way his ass looks in this particular pair of jeans.

He’s right; she’ll be up.


End file.
